Arrangements
by kissmelikeapirate
Summary: A princess needs a husband, even in a land where suitors are scarce.
1. Chapter 1

_This wasn't how it was meant to be._

It was, she had conceded with a heavy heart, the fault of decades of conflict and suffering. No sooner had the Ogre Wars finished than a disagreement over trade routes had embroiled half the kingdoms in the world in a series of dirty naval battles which had left no winner. Instead, with so many ships destroyed, trade slowed to a trickle - now reliant on old overland routes that had been neglected for decades. Famine followed, a pestilence destroyed almost half that first year's harvest. Thousands died and those who lived were not enough to reap what remained and so much of it wilted in the ground further compounding the shortages. Finally, in a cruel blow, a terrible plague then began to sweep over the land. The disease took no heed of age or station and left every family, rich or poor, affected. Such a terrible trio of curses. Dark magic was suspected by some parts to be the cause, yet no culprit admitted to it.

In the end, almost 15 years of hardship passed and the population of the kingdom dwindled to almost half of what it was. Its neighbours too were stricken- including so many of the royal families that had lost their heirs.

Misthaven was fortunate. Princess Emma had lived. She had made it through a childhood rife with the terrors of pestilence and starvation that she had seen so many of her childhood playmates not reach puberty. The princess had lived to see crops begin to flourish again and the navy of the kingdom rise once more - with new ships painstakingly formed by those remaining craftsmen who began to teach their skills to the young who had been lucky enough to make it. Finally, the kingdom was getting back on its feet with the most imminent threats gone.

Now, as the only heir to the throne, the duty of the princess was to marry and provide continuance for the bloodline of the royal family. Yet, there was a fly in the ointment. There were so few men to whom she could be betrothed. Princes were scarce, dukes hardly less so. All the traditional venues upon which a daughter of a king and queen would find a husband were gone. Balls and tours were still rare affairs, and frankly, her parents were beginning to worry. Almost a half dozen years past the age when marriage would have been acceptable and yet no offers to consider. There just was not the pool of eligible men for her to be exposed to and form an affection for (and hopefully, they prayed, to love).

From her quarters, high up in one of the castle's four turrets, Emma surveyed the kingdom below her. To the west, the port stretched out into the shimmering ocean. There, dozens of ships crammed into the harbour. A sign of the return of prosperity to the kingdom. In the east, the city bled into farmland, all ripe with crop that would be harvested that autumn. Beyond, the woodland from which the kingdom had earned its moniker - 'The Enchanted Forest' - lay, green and lush with the freshness of Spring. It was beautiful.

With a heavy sigh, she laid her hands upon the low wall that encircled her balcony. Her parents had instilled upon her from a young age the importance of her position. She had learned before she could even talk about how critical her role was, to guide and protect the people that relied on them. Every tree, every rock - every patch of soil was a legacy to which, like it or not, she was bonded to by blood. It was great honor, she knew. But sometimes it felt like a millstone around her neck.

Oh how she wished she could talk of their kingdom with the passion that her elders did; how they extolled its many virtues and qualities. She was a good daughter, she would always say the right things, but that did not change the fact that her earliest memories of Misthaven were dark ones. The suffering and death that had marred her formative years were hard to shake. So, even though she knew that her duty lay in her role as princess and future queen, she didn't always feel it in her heart.

They'd raised the subject of her marriage some years earlier. She hadn't been surprised, her parents having been barely older than her when she was born. After delaying the matter as long as she could, she finally acquiesced to her mother's gentle pleas to consider a suitor. Discrete enquiries to the neighboring kingdoms had not led to positive responses. As much as they would wish to unite with Misthaven, they simply did not have any sons of suitable age. Which led the king and queen with only their own subjects to examine. A suitor fit for a princess had to be someone noble (of character, if not birth), one with an education and natural wisdom, someone accomplished in his field of study or toil - one unmarried and of age. Of course, the pool of possible applicants drew smaller and smaller with each consideration until only a handful candidates remained.

The first few passed through the castle and little feeling stirred within the princess. They were solemn, proud men with the posture of those full of their own self-importance. Soldiers. Men of law. Sons of the oldest merchant families. Of course they smiled and said all the right things, but Emma could not, despite her desire to please her family, consider a courtship with any of them.

Emma became listless the more men who were called forth. All perfectly suitable, she knew. But something held her back from giving her mother the indication that she was open to courtship. Yet, she couldn't quite decipher what this was. Indeed, as months passed by - and dinners and dances were held all under the thin veneer of sociability though all knew their true purpose - she became more resigned to passing the decision over to her parents. The would choose the best they could, would they not?

But then there was a final recommendation, a little later than all the others, brought by courier from the naval office. It was for a Lieutenant Killian Jones of Misthaven's Royal Navy- the delay in the letter arising from his being on tour for the past six months. A seasoned seaman after ten years asea, fluent in three languages, a capable horseman and one of the brightest and most promising officers in the service. He was highly recommended by his commanding officers. Emma perused these letters of recommendation, listening to her mother's entreaties to look favorably upon his virtues and consider him (for even she was becoming concerned with her daughter's lack of interest in the men she had so far met).

One week later, an invitation had been extended to him to drink tea with the king and queen. Emma had cast her eyes over him, more than once, trying to ascertain a little of his character or motivations in considering such a thing as an arranged marriage. Sadly, she'd drawn a blank as to this. His expression as guarded as she supposed her own to be. She was, however, struck by how uncommonly handsome he was: with a clear cut jaw and startling blue eyes. But she had never been one to have her head turned by a pretty face, instead she wanted to know what lay beneath the exterior.

Throughout the brief meeting, he had seemed a little shy, fidgeting with the golden cuffs of his stiff, formal jacket and offering only short, polite contributions to the conversation that passed between the family. Emma fidgeted as she watched him. For all his recommendations he appeared to lack the confidence of the potential suitors she had already met, which for such an accomplished man she found strangely beguiling. Despite herself, she found herself becoming curious to know more of this man.

On parting, he had bowed very solemnly and then, most unexpectedly, had taken her hand and pressed a kiss upon it. She'd agreed with her mother when pressed about his suitability. He was a decorated officer, handsome and courteous, her mother had sang, and handsome, she'd added. Emma had nodded, quietly echoing her mother's enthusiasm, her mind awhirl.

/

 _This wasn't how it was meant to be._

As Lieutenant Killian Jones tugged on his formal blazer, he smoothed down the medals that hung upon them, his fingers lingering over the latest addition. Bravery in the first degree, he knew the engraving said. He felt anything but as he waited for the audience the princess has requested.

A week had passed since he had met the royal family. They drank tea from dainty cups and ate sweet, warm cakes from china plates. He felt out of place, in the fine dining room, in his formal uniform, in the company of such refined manners and impeccable breeding. He may be an officer, but it did not change the fact that he passed much of his time in the company of the coarser parts of society.

When Commander Gibbons had approached him, the officer had been at first confused and then affronted. That his commander would make such a recommendation of him was in parts amusing and absurd. Him, a sailor, a fighter, a wanderer- a man who just days before he dined with royalty was guiding the Jewel through a thick storm, sweat and salt soaked, rope burns to his hands, the scalding of the day's sun still upon his neck . How could he be considered a suitor.

Somehow, the commander had convinced him to consider the idea. Had mentioned that Liam would have been in favour.

Liam.

Even thinking of his brother, ten months after his passing, caught his breath. It was true, after his brother's unexpected death, he had thrown himself even more into his duties. Refusing any leave save the bare minimum. It was as if somehow he could atone for not being able to save him.

Perhaps this was how he could be of use. To serve in an unconventional way, to further the royal lineage. To be a consort, to provide children-

He was getting ahead of himself.

(This wasn't how he had thought it would happen.)

He would serve as the kingdom required.

/

"I received your summons, your Highness."

Emma started at the low tones of the Lieutenant's voice. She rose from where she sat upon a small chaise and turned towards the entrance to the library.

"Lieutenant," she nodded, her eyes flickering over his uniform clad form. Stiffly, he stood by the door, his tricorn hat under his arm, his back straight as a poker and his expression revealing nothing about his emotions. She took a breath. "Perhaps you would like to sit?"

She gestured to the seat beside her.

His lips hesitated into a small smile, before replying, "I prefer to stand, milady."

A small flicker of confusion caused her to furrow her brow as she softly sighed, 'Oh', before she picked up the book she was reading and took it back to the shelf from which she had retrieved it. "My father says your ship is to sail again soon."

"Aye, we must return to Glowerhaven within the week. The Minister of Trade is keen to conclude the negotiations with his counterpart."

"Oh yes, the grain contract."

The leather bound volume in her hands was heavy as she slid it back into the space from whence it came.

"We expect to be gone a month, to return before the seasons begin to change." he added.

Emma slowly turned back to face him, his blue eyes startling bright as they fixed upon her.

She nodded, her chin held high in a sign of all the confidence she did not feel. She hesitated a moment, before taking a few confident strides in his direction. "Well then, lieutenant, I will not press upon your time when you are preparing to sail. Instead, I will ask you the question which caused me to seek your audience."

He raised an eyebrow in question.

"What I wish to know, is… why have you agreed to this?"

His lips parted - clearly her question was unexpected. Perhaps she shouldn't be broaching this subject. But she needed to know his intentions.

"To a courtship?"

Emma nodded. He bunched his fingers more tightly around the rim of his hat. "My dearest wish, is to serve, your highness. The kingdom has done so much for me and given me so much when I deserved nothing."

She'd thought as much. Every word she had seen, written or spoken about this man had been laced with descriptions of his honor and valor.

She has expected his motivations to be as such. At least in that regard they could be matched.

"I understand," she replied, hugging her arms to her waist and offering a wan smile. There was something about him that she couldn't quite place. A feeling in his presence, of hesitance and uncertainty- unlike the others she had met who she could read like one of the books in the very library which she stood.

"May I be so bold as to ask you the same? I am led to believe that honesty is essential in these situations."

Emma's smile stiffened a certainly seemed to be on the same page as her. It didn't need to be explained to him that this was not a matter of love and romance but one of practicality and duty.

"Why - to serve the kingdom," she replied, her smile fixed and small. "I alone can continue the royal line."

The Lieutenant nodded softly. "Aye," he said, "That is an important duty."

His eyes seemed to soften a little. Emma suddenly felt very small, the responsibility she was facing looming ahead like a mountain to climb.

"Yes," she whispered, "Quite."

For a moment, they didn't speak.

"Well your highness, I am needed at the admiralty if you have no more questions?"

"Of course," she nodded, "Please, attend to your duties."

He softly approached, still at a respectable distance, but close enough that the princess could once again appreciate the handsome face she has let her eyes linger on during their first meeting. Yes, she admitted, he was certainly a man who fit all the expectations of a consort. He bowed, offering a quick nod of the head before leaving the room in a blur of blue wool.

/

It was three weeks later when he received the letter. Royal letterhead. Express.

An offer of engagement.


	2. Chapter 2

It had taken a sleepless night to decide how to reply. His earlier feelings about how this act, this duty, could somehow help atone for the past did not abate. Still this was not a situation he had anticipated. He had never reckoned he would marry. He loved the sea too much- and even more he was too headstrong to see himself partnered with anyone other than a captain. Or his brother.

 _Liam_ was the marrying kind. He had often talked of how he wished to have two strong sons, much like themselves, to follow their path into the navy. But that chance had been ripped away from him by the cruel blow of a pirate's sword, Killian unable to do a thing as his only family - his world - sank to the deck with a belly full of blood.

The memory of that day taunted him. He hadn't been able to save his brother. If he'd have been a little faster, or more careful, well, it was something he often dwelled on. It hadn't mattered that he was able to play a key part in beating back the attackers and that his actions had been essential in saving the lives of a dozen more men. He was unable to save the one who mattered.

He tossed and turned, reckoning that if he were able to fulfill his brother's wish to carry on their bloodline that it could provide some comfort to his soul. Commander Gibbons had been true in his assessment that Liam would have approved of Killian marrying. The circumstances were unexpected but the outcome would have pleased the elder Jones, of that he was certain. Now Killian was truly alone, he knew his brother would want him to form a new family.

And the matter of a partnership… Any marriage he had thought of before would have been different. One with a traditional courtship. And love. This was an entirely different matter. It was a situation designed to produce a specific outcome: heirs for the kingdom and the ensuing stability. Emotions and feelings did not factor into this arrangement. In some way that made things easier. It was almost clinical in the way he could approach his decision. Or at least that was what he told himself.

And the princess… Emma, he reminded himself. She was beautiful. Refined, educated, regal. All fine qualities to be sure. Under other circumstances he could never have dreamed being connected to such a woman. But history had dealt them all a strange hand and now he could be her consort. As much as he tried to imagine such a life with her would be like, he struggled to do so. She was such a mystery to him.

He lay in bed, the word marriage rolling around in his head like a marble on an unsteady deck. He dedicated hours to weighing up each aspect of the offer and the benefits and constraints. The letter proposing the engagement had contained reference to his commission and that the king and queen wished for him to be able to continue with his career 'in as a full a way as possible'. He took that be mean they supported his role in the navy. That eased his mind.

But was he ready to marry? Would he ever be - even if to serve a greater purpose?

Admittedly, he still wasn't sure when the sun rose, or when he took his pen and placed it on the hot pressed paper, or when he sealed the note with blood red wax, nor even when he passed it to the courier for return to Misthaven. But something had told him this was the right thing to do. To accept the proposition. To marry the princess.

/

The response from the Lieutenant arrived mere days before his ship returned. Her mother had brought the news to her in her chambers as she prepared for dinner. The queen seemed happy, yet wary. Emma had certainly surprised her when she had approached with her decision on how to proceed. She had told the queen that a formal courtship period - which would usually be at least a few months followed by an equally long engagement - seemed old fashioned, given the circumstances. She had also pointed out that she herself had not followed these rules when she married. Emma had explained, factually, reasonably, that of all the possible suitors, the naval officer seemed most appropriate in rank, temperament and education. It had taken a few days of discussion between her mother and father before they had devised a plan of action: to inform the Lieutenant of the princess's wishes, to seek his acceptance and then to plan the wedding post haste.

Emma was happy. _In a way_. Or perhaps relieved would be a better description. The issue of the continuance of the royal line could soon be put to bed. She could move into a more formal role with the kingdom. Perhaps she could travel somewhat, as she would have an official consort. And then children-

She was not naive. She was fairly familiar with what would have to happen between them. Children were not expected instantly in such circumstances, but soon enough she would need to produce an heir…

 _She would worry about that later._

Once she had assured the queen of her happiness at the news, the older woman had thrown herself into talk of gowns and flowers and guests and all the practicalities of a royal wedding. Her mother came alive, more jovial and youthful than she had seemed in years. Emma was pleased she had made her mother happy. The latched onto her mother's joy, as if by proxy she could feel the same.

/

When the _Jewel of the Realm_ docked, it was met by a royal entourage. The Lieutenant appeared in his fine uniform once more. He took the princess's hand and placed another chaste kiss upon it and then rode to the castle with them to finalize the formalities. Emma felt rather strange, this man she barely knew, was to be her husband. She wondered if he felt the same discombobulation. She knew not what was his favourite book or meal, whether he preferred summer or winter or even simply what the sound of his laugh was like. Never mind to speak of his past, his family and his dreams for the future.

Either by accident, or some element of design, there was very little time to learn more of his thoughts and feelings. The wedding was fixed for a mere six weeks time. It would be midsummer by then, a fortuitous time to marry so they said. Between his naval duties and the _Jewel's_ next journey, there would be little time to get to know one another. Emma wasn't sure what she thought about that. But in the end, it didn't matter. They were marrying. They would have all the time in the world to become familiar with each other once the marriage contract was signed.

The crown princess of Misthaven was nothing if not always practical.

/

It seemed indecently quick how soon she was standing draped in fine lace, saying vows before an assembled gathering of family and selected dignitaries. There had been a few conversations between them in the proceeding weeks. The half dozen dinners he had attended she had sat beside him. At the formal engagement party they had danced twice. It was all so… polite. But beyond that, there had been so little time for such niceties. He was committed to his duties on the _Jewel_ and she respected that. It was something to admire, his dedication to his work.

Still, her knees shook as she recited the words. Her heart raced as she looked at the man she was joining herself with. Her mind began to fill with doubt at the wisdom of this union.

There was little time to think as the emerald ring that belonged to her mother was slipped on her finger and the ceremony was completed.

She kissed her husband.

(Her husband.)

It was a little awkward. Stiff. Two almost strangers pushed into intimacy.

 _Oh what had she done._

/

He thought of Liam during the ceremony. How he wished he could have been there.

(Or how it even should have been him at the altar.)

He stood tall, held back his shoulders and recited the vows with as much sincerity and nobility as he could muster.

It was impossible to ascertain the princess's feelings. Her face was a mask; a thin smile upon it with no other emotion revealed. They had spent so little time together before this moment; he was needed more often than not for official naval matters. In honesty, he had been glad. He had been avoiding really thinking about what he had agreed to do. But it was more difficult with her in front of him, beautiful in pale blue lace, her golden hair in tumbling curls. Her face unreadable.

When he kissed her, she froze in his arms. Their lips barely touched for the briefest of seconds, enough time for their guests to stand and congratulate them. That their first kiss should be for an audience was perhaps apt occurrence, all things considered. A public spectacle as everything between them had been so far.

Discreetly, the queen had indicated that the pair ought to spend a moment together before the formal dinner, out of the sight of prying eyes, and he was inclined to agree. They slipped away to the queen's drawing room.

"Your highness," he nodded, with a soft smile as the door closed behind them.

"Stop," she replied softly, "No need for such formality."

He paused and stood upright. She approached him, the soft swishing of her dress the only sound in that quiet part of the castle. Sometimes he missed the creaking of oak planks and the crashing of waves against the hull when he was ashore. The lack of ambient noise on land threw everything else into sharp focus.

She clasped her hands about her waist. The ring on her finger glinted in the last of the sunlight that shone through the windows. "You must call me Emma, at least in private."

"Of course," he nodded, "Emma."

She seemed to look him over, her eyes darting about his form. He wondered what she was thinking. He wondered if he would ever be able to decipher her looks. Only time would tell.

"I feel like we rarely have a moment alone. I wonder if we shall ever be able to ascertain more beyond our names and our preferences when dining," she asked, a lighthearted edge to her voice but there was an undercurrent of something beneath it.

"I hope so. The naval command have been most understanding, and though I will be asea sometimes, you will have plenty of opportunity to grow tired of my presence."

"We shall see," she nodded, a half smile on her lips as if she were teasing him. He bit back his own smile.

He watched as she walked towards the large windows that looked out onto the harbour. It was late afternoon now, dusk beginning to peek at the edges of the horizon with its dusty pink hues painting over the crisp, Misthaven blue. She walked with the regal posture, back straight, head held high.

He hesitated, not sure if he should join her. In fact he found himself most uncertain about all aspects of how he was to behave. They were married. They had signed the documents, said the words, but really nothing much had changed. They were still two almost-strangers.

"How are you feeling?" she finally asked, not turning around.

"I'm not sure," he admitted, hoping she understood his meaning. In this instance there did not seem to be an appropriate answer. So honesty was what he decided upon.

Emma looked back over her shoulder. "And I'm also not sure how to feel," she admitted, "So at least in that we are equal."

"It has been a strange time," he said as she returned to him.

She nodded as he smiled at her. A tentative gesture, but one that eased a little of the worry she wore upon her brow.

"Our guests are waiting - should we?" he asked, holding out his arm.

Quietly, she agreed, taking hold of her husband, ready to face their guests.

/

They dined, danced and made niceties. There was barely a moment to dwell on the fact that they were now married. Not until the night drew in and it was time to retire.

She had slipped away first. A maid had helped her remove the most cumbersome parts of her dress and veil, allowing her to pull on a long nightdress before she was joined by him.

There was a knock at the interjoining door that connected to the private dressing room that adjoined her room. Emma slipped beneath the sumptuous covers of her bed before she bid him to enter.

His head was down. The nightshirt he wore was soft linen and reached down to his knees. She was secretly thankful that he was so well… covered. These past weeks, she had tried not to think too much on what would happen that evening. She was not a fool, she understood the ins and outs the marriage bed. At least in principle. But it was still the case that she yet to see a naked man, save in scientific illustrations, much less be alone with one.

Clearing his throat, he frowned. "You look comfortable, I can sleep elsewhere-"

She balled her hands in the quilt. "No, you are my _husband_." She swallowed and looked away, "We must…"

He gave the briefest of nods. She knew quite well if she were to say she was not ready he would have left her in peace. The marriage, however, would not be legal until this threshold had been passed. And if it were today, or a week or a month from that date, what would it matter? Best to get it over with, she thought.

The bed shifted with his weight. She had never shared it with another- not even a friend for a girlish sleepover. Her body rolled backwards towards him with the motion and she gasped lightly as he snuffed out the candle and pulled the blankets over them.

Minutes - hours seemed to pass - she froze in place. Not quite sure what to say or do. She was beginning to think they would stay in that position for the rest of the night until one or the other passed out in exhaustion.

It was he who broke the impasse. He reached out, placing a gentle hand upon hers.

"Are you scared?" he whispered.

"No," she lied. But she was scared in a way, not of the act, not of him- but of something else she didn't understand. Then she frowned. "Well, not really."

Her heart raced as she felt him inch closer, the gap between them disappearing until he was hovering over her, his features masked by the darkness, but she could feel the warmth of him and the scent of his soap even though they barely touched.

"Are you sure, love?" he asked.

The little term of endearment sent a spark through her body. It was the most intimate thing he had said to her, just a silly little word. But right then it meant everything.

She nodded, her teeth pressing down on her lower lip, her toes clenching in anticipation.

Gently, he lifted the cover until he was draped across both their bodies. He paused again and for a moment she thought he may have changed his mind. Her cheeks reddened at the thought that he didn't want her-

But then she felt his hand against her cheek, the barest of touches, featherlight and soft.

"You looked beautiful today," he whispered, the compliment unexpectedly making her heart swell. She felt herself blush as his fingers moved to cup her cheek.

"Thank you," she replied, not sure how else to respond. She thought she could perceive him smiling a little, before he leant down and kissed her.

A soft kiss. A reserved kiss, she thought. She felt he was holding something back, which made her grateful yet curious. His mouth moved over hers, slowly sparking something inside her. He seemed careful to avoid touching her more than he was. The hand on her cheek and his lips the only points of contact. Did he truly want her or was this duty?

Did she want him?

He was pushing up the linen of her nightgown as those thoughts lingered. The scrape of his finger tips against her bare legs left a tingle in their wake. He shifted over her, his kisses deepening, yet still holding back. Her own hands went to his shoulders, his neck, holding his mouth to hers as their hips aligned and she felt the heavy weight of him and his desire that she had only read about before.

A sudden warmth overcame her. It was a rush of wanting - instinct telling her to let her legs fall apart, his soft grunts telling her that this was the right motion. And then it all became a blur.

His urgency seemed to increase, he tugged at his own nightshirt, sighing when skin met skin. It felt strange, but wonderful, so oddly intimate, a kind of contact that she had not yet experienced. And then fingers wandered over her body, teasing and meandering, finding the apex of her legs, wavering there until she gave a small nod of approval. And he touched her. And oh- it felt so good. Just that singular sensation of another upon her intimate places. Her breath caught. The kisses paused and he held back, drawing his fingers through her flesh-

"Is this alright?" he asked, a slight timbre to his voice.

She couldn't speak, so she nodded, her breath shaking.

And then a blur. The feeling inside her growing, his fingers working over her, his mouth on her lips and her neck and then - then-

He was at her entrance, waiting again, bidding her allowance, until she tilted her hips and a maid she was no more.

/

It hadn't seemed real. Even when the vows were said and the wedding breakfast was taken. Even as he undressed. Even as he slipped into her bed-

But there he was, bedding the royal princess, sealing their wedding night. This intimate act between two so unfamiliar with each other, yet now so intrinsically linked.

Finally, he was letting himself go. Letting that naval reserve that his behind slide away, just for a little while. Let himself enjoy the beauty of this woman, this lady of whom he was now joined - of whom he felt so unworthy.

He hadn't wanted to rush this. He would have waited. He was holding back, he knew it, he was sure she could tell. But he must be gentle, mindful of her inexperience, not selfish in his wants.

Yet as he found himself giving into carnal bliss, a clarity of mind occurred. He looked into the princess's eyes and it was as if he was seeing her for the first time. And he wanted to know her, learn her, consume her-

He wanted everything, yet he feared that was a lost cause.


End file.
